


knowing that your life was my life's best part

by ViolaWay



Category: Wicked - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Grief/Mourning, Spoilers, Unrequited Love, it's not cheerful unfortunately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 19:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11698581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolaWay/pseuds/ViolaWay
Summary: Glinda's determined to give Elphaba a funeral, even if she's the only attendee.





	knowing that your life was my life's best part

**Author's Note:**

> i found a draft of this in my phone's notes from last year, when i went to see wicked for the second time and fell in love with it all over again, with an added appreciation for how gay it is
> 
> i do apologise for how depressing this fic is. and although i tagged 'major character death' (just to be safe!) elphaba is still alive!! glinda just doesn't know

Glinda knows she’s a coward, but she daren’t invite another living soul to Elphie’s funeral. There’s no one left who knew the real Elphaba anyway: no Nessa or Fiyero to remember the brave, kind, _stubborn_ woman who sacrificed her life and her reputation for what she hoped would be a better world.

So it’s a funeral for Glinda and Glinda alone, and maybe it’s better that way—or maybe Glinda just doesn’t want anyone else to see her life this, in the moment when she’s standing on the precipice of brokenness, not even trying to prevent the fall. Coward that she is, she doesn’t want anyone in Oz to find out that she doesn’t—could never—regard her friend as the monster they all think she is. All that she has left to bury are the hat (and it’s still the same one that Glinda gave her all that time ago, a shameful reminder of her superficial adolescent cruelty) and that emerald green bottle.

She’s not sure what to do with them. She doesn’t know what Elphie would want her to do.

For the past few weeks, she’s been putting on a good face for the people. But when she’s alone, she feels utterly lost, anchorless, and drained. The garish, glittering pink dresses that Elphie used to laugh at have begun to choke her, waists cinched too tight and necklines biting into her throat. The worst thing, maybe, is that no one’s noticed.

The first decision she makes is to fling that green bottle into the water that laps at the shores of the west coast. It’s not far from the castle where Elphaba died, but Glinda can’t bring herself to revisit that place, even though she can see it looming in the distance. Flying monkeys still circle its summits.

Watching the bottle sinking beneath the waves brings with it a certain degree of satisfaction, a brutal feeling of hatred directed at the man to whom it had belonged. He’s long gone: the Wonderful Wizard of Oz quickly fading into a dull memory amongst the inhabitants of the lands he once ruled. Stories of his ‘greatness’ still circulate, but without the intensity he once inspired.

She still finds it impossible to think of him as Elphie’s father. They’d been so different: Elphaba has been a woman of principles and strength, whilst her biological father had embodied cowardice, hiding his true nature and even his face from those he claimed to rule. Truthfully, Glinda half-hopes he met his vicious end on the hot air balloon ride home. Such violent thoughts would never have occurred to her before Elphie’s death.

The hat is what she buries. It’s such a poor substitute for a body that Glinda can hardly stand it, breaks down in shaky sobs before the thing is even in the ground. It’s now that she wishes she had someone else, to place a gentle arm around her, to offer a handkerchief for her tears. But there’s nothing and no one else. Nothing except the oppressive silence of the night. The stars seem to be winking down at her, silent conspirators. The burial spot she chooses is in the middle of the forest, beneath the sentinel trees and the damp earth. Digging the hole requires a relatively small amount of physical labour, but she’s already mentally exhausted and it takes over an hour for her trembling hands to comply. By the time she’s finished she’s covered in dirt and her cheeks are crusted with tears.

“You deserved better than this,” she whispers to the sky, where in her more hopeful moments she imagines Elphaba to be, still flying. And she starts crying again, because of the inescapable truth of her words. Elphie always deserved better than Glinda could give her; Glinda was constantly letting her down. Even now, she can’t even get her act together enough to give her best friend the funeral she deserves.

She wonders what might have happened if she’d changed the smallest of things, made one decision differently.

_“Glinda, come with me. Think of what we could do, together.”_

Elphie’s face had shone with hope, at the thought of all the wrongs they could right, all the injustices they could prevent. Both of them. But Glinda had thought of her wedding and her social obligations and her political ambitions. And she’d said no.

Now she has no husband, few friends and a political position she despises. Worst, Elphaba is gone.

She changes furtively into the black clothes she’d brought with her, ones that don’t bear the mud stains of her efforts, and she sits beside the makeshift grave until the sun rises, stinging her sensitive eyes. Solitude has never before relaxed her, but now she basks in it. Without Elphie, there’s no one she wants to be with, no one who really understands her. Elphaba had seen her good parts and her flaws with searing clarity, and she’d loved her all the same. They’d loved each other, each in their own way.

Glinda’s sick of deluding herself. Where once she’d thought that Fiyero was the person she was meant to be with, she now knows that Elphaba was _it_ for her. Elphaba was the heart-thumping stomach-churning love of her life, and Glinda hadn’t realised until it was too late.

The realisation had come in increments, each more painful than the last. She’s still not quite come to terms with it, with the way Elphaba managed to be the most beautiful person she’s ever known, green skin and all. That was always the first thing people saw, but Glinda knew her long and well enough to grow increasingly aware of the deep brown of her eyes and the thick fan of lashes surrounding them, the grace of her hands and the brightness of her face when she smiled. She was beautiful in a way most people would never be—glowing from the inside out. Even as it becomes harder to picture the exact details of her face, Glinda knows that.

People talk to her about responsibilities. She knows that eventually she’ll be expected to marry someone else, and glitter as their social butterfly wife, all charming smiles and false modesty. The thought makes her feel sick.

Because even though Elphaba is gone, and her absence is like a hole carved through the direct centre of Glinda’s chest—there are still moments, every once in a while, when Glinda can feel her. It’s not a physical thing: it’s more like an invisible thread exists between them and every so often, someone tugs at the other end.  She can’t describe it in a rational way, but there’s a tiny part of her that feels like Elphie’s spirit is still with her. That’s what keeps her waking up in the morning. That’s what keeps her heart beating.


End file.
